In my case I was a mere lad of 6 years old, and my Dad liked to take out the light-
up globe we had and talk about his travels during his Merchant Marine days. One
day when looking at it myself I deigned to examine the North Pole, where naturally
there is no land mass. I did know that there was typically a lot of ice up there tho,
but Santa’s castle probably wouldn’t last too long getting tossed hither and yon
upon ice floes. It was short step then to dismiss the rest of the Santa myth. I then
proudly announced my conclusions to my amazed parents.
Contrast that with my nephew, who was visibly upset at age 10 when he found out
(somehow my sister and her husband let it slip somehow)-the disillusionment was
crushing.
I got up in the middle of the night to pee, one Christmas Eve, and caught my dad coming down from the attic with a giant Snoopy and a Big Wheel. I wasn’t devastated or anything. I think it bothered him more than me.
I was about 5 or so and was digging through my parents’ closet looking for something and I found the special “Santa” wrapping paper that all of my gifts from Santa were wrapped in. I don’t remember being too upset, all I remember thinking was that I couldn’t let my parents know that I found out because then I wouldn’t get as many gifts. I played it off until I was about 10, even leaving cookies and letters for Santa and saying I thought I heard reindeer on the roof. When I was 10, my mom told me there was no Santa and I said, “Yeah I’ve known since I was 5 but I didn’t want to stop getting the gifts.” I think she was shocked that I was that manipulative at such a young age.
I don’t remember deciding it was not fact, but rather myth. By the time I did so, I had a firm understanding of myth, and why mythical characters are both real, and not real. There was a Saint Nicholas, but he doesn’t bring toys to kids. It’s just an element of my own character that the acquisition of that understanding in my mind was not a specific event.
My youngest son feels that this conspiracy of adults to fool children into believing something that is a lie just shows how little parents really remember about being children.
I’m the youngest of six and was raised Catholic, so midnight mass on Christmas Eve was always a big deal for my older sibs. Mom always made my sisters beautiful new Christmas dresses.
When I was finally deemed old enough to stay up for midnight mass (I can’t remember how old I was – nine, maybe?), I observed the process of getting all the gifts out of the hiding place and putting everything under the tree.
I was so excited about being grown up enough to stay up late with the big kids, I didn’t care about the Santa part.
I’m with gigi, I was the little snot in kindergarten that shattered peoples worlds. My older brothers were quick to tell me about their Christmas eve discovery by the time I was old enough to know who Santa was…thanks a lot Alistair McCello. But my parents weren’t big on things like that anyways, I didn’t know about this whole Easter bunny concept until middle school. I thought Easter was simply a day that I had to get up before the sun and go to an extra church service.
Oh, great, I just needed all my hopes and dreams broken horribly beyond repair today. :mad:
(Actually, I don’t remember it being that big of a deal. Sort of more like ‘huh. Well, guess that makes sense. More candy canes for the tree?’)
When I was seven, in the middle of the summer I was looking for something I’d lost. I looked everywhere. Hey, why wouldn’t my GI Joe be in the downstairs toilet? One never knows. Bathtub? Could be. Mom’s underwear drawer? Nope, but that’s where I found the letter to Santa that I’d sent months before. I think I thought about for around a minute before I had all the pieces set in place.
I figured out that Santa and my Dad were the same guy when I read Santa’s note thanking me for the cookies and realized it was my Dad’s handwriting. C’mon Dad, couldn’t you have just cut out letters from magazines or something? T h A N k s F o R T H E C o O k I es k I d would have taken me a while to figure out.
Mine too. I fully expect to be read the Christmas story again this year when I go to their place for Christmas.
A ‘me too’ wrt that too. I have a distinct memory of coming back to school (either first grade or kindergarten) and having the following conversation with a classmate that brought in a really neat puzzle of the US he had received for Christmas: “Hey, that’s a really neat puzzle. Did you get it for Christmas?” “Yes.” “Cool. Who gave it to you?” “Santa.” “No, really, who gave it to you?”
I really don’t remember. It wasn’t a big revelatory moment for me. I did ask my mom about it, and she gave me the “Christmas Spirit” answer, which I found very nice, and I’m pretty sure she asked me not to spread it around at school.
Come to think of it, I don’t know when my own son found out or how. I don’t believe we’ve ever had a discussion about it. But at 13, I’m pretty sure he’s caught on by now! He’s part of the conspiracy for his toddler sister this year.
I guess that’s why I can’t get on board with the venomous, slavering Dopers who come out of the woodwork occasionally to spew hate that we’re lying to our children and setting them up for disappointment and breaking their trust and wah wah wah-wah-wah wah. It just hasn’t been a big deal in my life. I’m much more wounded by my mother calling me “jell-o thighs” in high school.
When my siblings and I were beginning to have doubts, we were greeted one Christmas morning by a handwritten note which basically read: “Thanks for the cookies. Hope you enjoy your presents. Santa”. It was clearly not in my mother’s or father’s familiar script, so the question of Claus’s existence lingered for a while longer. Even today, my parents won’t admit the identity of the mystery man (or woman) who penned (actually penciled) the brief missive.
Same with me, except we were never led to believe in the Tooth Fairy either. We still got money though.
My brothers and I were always told something along the lines of “A lot of families like to pretend for their children that Santa Claus exists, and it is up to the parents when to let their children know there is no Santa Claus. So don’t tell the children he doesn’t exist.” So we didn’t tell.
My parents weren’t going to have the conversation about “Well, when we said the magical Santa was bringing gifts, we were kidding, but Jesus, he’s real.”
So we never believed in Santa. I can’t notice any scarring.